Charred Coals
by o-renishiii
Summary: For the past six years, Gale Hawthorne and Katniss Everdeen have done everything together. They hunted together, fished together, survived together, and loved together. When the 74th annual Hunger Games comes around, it's morbidly fitting they get burn together too.
1. Preface: Thunder

_"I watch the glass break around my guarded heart tonight_

 _This ain't no mistake_

 _You make my earth quake_

 _You feel like thunder"_

 _-Thunder, Jessie J_

* * *

 **Preface: Thunder**

As a child, I hated thunderstorms.

They were the worst thing my young mind fathomed I could ever experience. I despised how the sky became dark and low with ominous black clouds and how the wind would pick up, howling, like a wolf into the night, and shaking the walls of my home, as if some higher power were going to take that from me too. Of course, I was still innocent and naive. I didn't know yet the gnawing pain of an empty stomach, the grief of two absent parents, or the burden of survival.

All I knew was that thunderstorms were loud, scary, and they made Prim cry; even before she was mine to care for, I never wanted to hear Prim cry.

It is thundering now, but it doesn't affect us - not really. Both Gale and I had smelled the heady musk of an upcoming storm in the air and, had desperately shuffled toward shelter.

I listen as the rain lashed down, torrential, and unforgiving; loud, rolling ripples of lightning dance through the skies and the crack bounces off the wall of the cave we're squatting in, causing me to jump and clutch at my quiver on instinct.

I scowl at myself whenever I do this.

It grates on my nerves that here I am, no longer a child, yet I'm still afraid.

The difference is, it's not the thunderstorm that scares me now.

"Catnip quit your pouting, and get over here before that look on your face becomes permanent," Gale's words irk me even more, and my glare deepens. He sounds so frail, so weak, so _small_ \- qualities I've never associated with Gale Hawthorne in all my years of knowing him, but can't be denied now; there's such a strained quality to his voice that even I, master of denial and ignoring unpleasant things, can't deny.

The boom of thunder reverberates around us, reminding me exactly where I am.

I hate it.

"I thought you liked my face." I snark back, more harshly than intended. I can't bring myself to care, though.

Caring is what led to all this in the first place.

 _This is why I never wanted to fall in love._

Gale sighs, either not willing to argue or too tired to (probably both), and that upsets me more than the crack of thunder that used to haunt my dreams or the subtle yet unmistakable croak in the voice of the one person I always assumed to be invincible.

My partner, my best friend, the boy with snares, the man I would've spent the rest of my life with, has given up and he's not even trying to hide it.

There's a loaded silence where I marinate in my bitterness and allow the rage to crash over me like waves. I held onto to that anger, fanned the flames of my fury, hoping it would consume me and drown out all the other feelings.

Anger is manageable, helplessness is not.

Before the anger can take over me Gale cuts the silence, voice shocking me out of my morbid thoughts.

"You regret it," he whispers.

I whip around, finally turning to look at his massive frame spread eagle at the opposite corner of the cave. I carefully avoid looking at his clammy face and sunken cheeks.

"Regret what?" I ask, the sharpness present a moment ago replaced with genuine confusion - for the most part.

"Loving me," his voice sounds hollow, and my heart clenches. Shame washes over me, drowning out all my temper with it.

After all these years I still forget that Gale knows me better than anyone. He of all people would know where my thoughts were headed, no matter what state he's in.

"I know you wanted to avoid this. I know how much you tried to avoid relationships. Maybe you were right after all."

I unfold my legs and stand, turning from the mouth of the cave to walk carefully over to where Gale is laying. My steps are small and measured, stalling, because I know when I respond there's a good chance I'll hurt his feelings and, I don't want that.

I've never been good at talking or introspection. How do I explain that I could never regret loving him, but I knew that love always ended with pain, and that's why I'm angry.

How do I tell him that despite subjecting myself to this torture I would probably do it again? That's where my bitterness come's from, not him.

When I reach him I crumble to my knees, still avoiding his gaze, and allow my bow to clatter to the floor while I collect his calloused hands to bring them up to my lips in the way I know comforts him.

He radiates a warmth that isn't healthy, and the stickiness of his palms worries me, but the scent of leather, smoke, and pine immediately calms my rapid heart.

The smell is familiar; it's _home._

Gale breathes my name out like a prayer - reverently and full of awe - sliding his hands from mine to the nape of my neck, pulling me down to rest our foreheads together. I keep my eyes shut and cup his jaw greedily, dipping lower to tenderly nuzzle my cheek against his, releasing an exhale that sounds distinctly like his name.

Gales whole body shivers.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. Look where we are," he murmured, brushing the tip of his nose with mine, back and forth. It's my turn to shiver at his ministrations, feeling _that_ type of hunger churn in my lower stomach.

It's the type of hunger that hints at a different type of need, the type of desire only Gale can satisfy. I peek up through my lashes, Seam grey meeting Seam grey and the mix of tenderness, love, and sadness that reflects back at me makes my lips part without permission and coaxes the raw truth from them.

"I don't regret it. I could never regret it. You're mine, and I'm yours and -, " my voice cracks pitifully but I keep going because I'm going to die as a pawn playing a game I don't understand, and loving the boy in my arms willing to die with me- _for me-_ is the only thing I'm a hundred percent sure of. "I love you. _I love you._ You can't leave me. It's always been just you and me. You _promised_ it'll always be you and me."

" _Katniss,_ " Gale groans deep in the back of his throat, and I lurch forward to swallow it - no more words.

His lips are cracked, they taste of sweat, desperation, and salt, but none of that matters, all I feel is the fire brewing in my chest and the delicious spark of desire lighting up my body.

His parted lips move insistently, sliding under mine with an intensity that has me clutching his cheeks and, mewling in pleasure as the smoothness of Gale's tongue swipes across my bottom lip before plunging into my mouth and swiping at every surface, robbing me of any breath I've ever taken or will ever take. When his mouth retreats - that's as much energy as he can spend on activities that aren't breathing - my tongue darts out to follow and I get one small lap at his lips before he lays his head back with a growl: eyes heavy-lidded, smouldering and dark like the coal our district is known for.

"I love you," he pants, hand moving from my neck so his thumb can brush my bottom lip, "me and you, okay? We're in this together like always, that hasn't changed."

He's wrong; everything has changed - we're in a cave, listening to the rain while all of Panem watches our most intimate, private moments, Gale is dying, and there's nothing I can do.

 _Everything's changed._

I open my mouth to tell him this when suddenly, over the heavens downpour and the clap of thunder, an announcement comes.

* * *

 ** _A/N: Another new story! I'm on a roll haha. Read, review and let me know how you like it!_**


	2. The Woods

_**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for all the kind words and reviews! I just wanted to let you know this is basically a Gale/Katniss get reaped fic. I will make it as close to the book as possible, but there will be some changes. For one, I made both of them eighteen. Now that I'm an adult I realize how young 16 is, and don't feel comfortable writing characters of that age range. Not too mention, it'd be weird to have sixteen-year-olds have the type of mature relationship I want Katniss and Gale to have. There are more reasons but no spoilers ;) You'll see. I also want to make the games a bit different, not too much, but enough to keep you guys on your toes. I feel that introducing the Gale and Katniss dynamic to the games would really change things up realistically. Plus, Gale's a bit more blood-thirsty than Katniss so that'll def. make some new twists. sORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT! Either way, enjoy!**_

 _ **OH! IMPORTANT: For those of you who will wonder this is just a recap of Gale and Katniss's relationship. An intro chapter really, it'll blend into the reaping day so don't turn the story away here, please!**_

 ** _Special thanks to the TeamGale Community who put my story in their community along with other amazing Gale-centric fics!_  
**

* * *

 _"We are what we are, don't need no excuses_

 _For the scars from our mothers_

 _And we know what we know_

 _'Cause we're made of all the little bones of our fathers."_

 _\- The Woods, Daughter_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Woods**

The day I met Gale Hawthorne was the day I had finally gathered up the courage to go into the woods behind the gate near my house by myself for the first time. I had never gone without my father's guidance but, at that point, I didn't have a choice. My father had died six months prior in a mine collapse.

To this day I still wake up from nightmares trying to scream out a warning to my father. He never hears it.

I was twelve years old then - young, scared, starving and, utterly desperate. The hunger and desperation was so intense, so all-consuming, that taking a bullet for poaching no longer fazed my twelve-year-old self.

Even then, I would have rather taken the bullet then starve.

Being the same age, I had seen Gale around school before that day. He was a tall boy for his age, gangly and long-limbed, with steely eyes that shined with a peculiar blend of determination and mischief that drew other children towards him and left adults weary.

I never paid too much attention to him, no more than the next person at least. I had always been a quiet girl, content with singing lullabies to my baby sister Prim, braiding my mother's hair and learning the ways of the hunt from my father. I never bothered with basic childish interactions or friendships of any kind. I wasn't interested in them - that hasn't changed - but Gale snuck up on me.

Literally.

I was a couple of miles into the forest, picking blueberries and edible roots that I recognized from my families plant book when I heard the whine of an animal and the rustle of movement. I whipped toward the sound, creeping in its direction with bent knees, pulling at the string of my bow. I evened out my breathing as my father taught me to, hearing the echo of his words mix with the wind.

' _Focus on the animals Katniss; it's just you and nature. Think of nothing else.'_

I was surprised when I finally circled the tree, arrow nocked and aimed, to see that the creature - a jackrabbit - was already dead, hanging limply in a perfect snare. I shuffled closer, eyeing the tight, intricate knots when a recognizable, yet not quite familiar, voice broke the eerie quiet.

"Stealing is illegal or haven't you heard," I spun around to see the lanky form of Gale Hawthorne leaning against the tree trunk, looking at me with annoyance and a hint of mirth.

"I wasn't trying to steal it," I had defended, "I was just looking."

There was a beat of silence while Gale studied me, deciding whether or not I was truthful. It seemed like he decided in my favor because his stiff position relaxed and he took a couple of steps forward. "Can you use that," he asked, nodding at the bow in my hands.

"Yes," I whispered, painfully shy and unused to speaking to anyone who wasn't Prim or my father - I tried not to think of my broken mother.

"Wow, that's cool" he appraised, making me flush lightly but Gale was young and oblivious at the time, he hadn't noticed. "I saw you at the recognizing ceremony."

The ceremony where they awarded my family with a medal as some lackluster apology for killing my father. My blush fell off my face, and I glared, not feeling so shy anymore. I nodded in response.

Gale glanced at my face, looking almost approving at the hate tinging my expression. His father died in those mines too. He must've felt the same rage I felt at the world.

It was good to know I wasn't the only one.

"What's your name?" he questioned, genuinely interested.

I was slightly hurt Gale hadn't known my name; we had been in a couple of classes together throughout the years. "Katniss," I whispered.

" _Catnip?"_ he crowed, having misheard and obviously giddy at the ridiculous name. I had flushed again, unable to find the words to correct him.

"Well, Catnip," he mocked gleefully, puffing his chest importantly, "how about I show you my snare. My dad taught me, you know."

That was the beginning of our partnership, and it was a rocky one at first.

Both of us were (still are) temperamental, stubborn and competitive. We enjoyed the company in the woods (neither of us would ever admit that we were both a bit scared traveling them alone at the time), we watched each other's back but, once we crossed the fence that led to the District, the competition for business led us to petty, childish arguments. It took months before we put those arguments aside and came up with a system that allowed us to share our catches and do trade together instead of apart.

As time passed and our fighting dwindled, we became friends.

I taught him to shoot; he taught me to make snares; we foraged together, hunted together, got into trouble together, and took care of our families together. Eventually, I became a frequent guest at the Hawthorn residence, and Gale became a regular at the Everdeen house; everything we did stopped being for our own families - our actions became driven by the needs of both our families combined, and as the years passed, in the eyes of the District, we became one entity; two halves of the same whole.

There was no longer just Katniss Everdeen, the quiet girl with the scowl or Gale Hawthorne, the troublemaker with a loud mouth. There was only Gale and Katniss; the hunters, the _team,_ a force to be reckoned with.

And, despite my misgivings about codependency and my sureness of the inevitable disappointment that comes with needing other people, I didn't mind.

* * *

Seasons came and went, the years flew by and, with the passage of time, came change. One that was inevitable, subtle, riveting, _terrifying._

It was a change I didn't necessarily want and one that took ages for me to acknowledge, much less accept, but once I did it become my biggest strength and my most debilitating weakness.

Some days I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

It began when we were fifteen years old - three years after we met.

* * *

In those three years, I knew I loved Gale - like a partner, a best friend, a lifeline.

Despite the hardheadedness and fights, I grew to trust Gale with my life, with my family, with my friendship, with my trust.

To me that was the most precious part of me I could possibly give anyone; trust is everything and if losing my father had taught me anything, it was that it needed to guarded fiercely. Trust is so powerful, so fragile, so easily shattered, so very hard to earn.

Trust scared me. Putting your trust in other people leads to pain, to heartbreak and disappointment; not even my own mother had - _has_ \- my trust.

I swore to myself I would never be so careless with it again, that I would live my life never giving it to anyone. That I would do what I do best, survive and keep Prim safe.

During the winter of my fifteenth year, I got a cold. Being the driven person that I am, I didn't go to the town healer or invest in medicine or rest, I kept on going. Kept hunting and foraging and staying out late in the bitter frost and snow. My cold grew worse, it got so bad that everyone - my family, Gale's family, The Hobs patrons, _me-_ thought that I wouldn't live long enough to see the snow melt.

Gale and Prim were beside themselves.

To this day I've never seen either as upset and so utterly _heartbroken_ as they were then _._

I seemed to be the only one unconcerned.

I'd never been too concerned with whether or not I live or die; I had come to terms with my mortality and my probable yet unavoidable premature death at a very young age. The only thing that has ever worried me, the only reason I had to keep fighting, is Prim.

But, sitting on my deathbed at the ripe age of fifteen, I didn't fight to hold on, I didn't need to. I knew that Prim would be okay, that she would be taken care of, and it wasn't the thought of my mother that brought me that relief.

It was Gale - it was always Gale.

I realized that winter that I _trusted_ Gale with everything in me, trusted him with the person most precious to me. Not once did it occur to me that Gale wouldn't take care of Prim, that he wouldn't spend the rest of his life being anything she needed. I knew that he would be to her all the things he was to me, that he and I were to our families - a protector, a caretaker.

I never gave Gale my trust, I didn't know how, but he had managed to weasel it out of me anyway, and he took it all. The faith I demonstrated when I was prepared to hand over my sister, essentially my child, to him proved it.

Which is why when I actually lived through that horrid winter something between us changed.

I had to face the fact that he had the most important part of me, that he had taken it without my permission and it was _hard_.

But, it was too late to put a stop to it, I was too far gone already.

If there is one thing I know about myself, it is that I may not love often, but I love _hard -_ with every ounce of my being and every beat of my guarded heart - and I knew, eventually, that would be Gales too.

I was not naive enough not to know that if my trust was already his, it wouldn't be too long until my heart followed.

I think Gale made some realizations that winter too because I wasn't the only one contributing to the shift in our relationship.

Gale was different too. His touches grew softer and lingered, his stares became loaded with emotions that thrilled and terrified; when his eyes trained on me they barely strayed and whenever we were together his body seemed to gravitate toward me, curved around me, warmed me.

We both felt the gradual shift of our friendship becoming more; both sensed the undercurrent of emotions brewing between us, sizzling and electrifying, just below the surface. But neither of us were ready to act on it - not then, not yet.

So, like a match catching flame, we waited and watched as the flame grew to dizzying heights, as it blazed and burned until it filled every crevice of our bodies, our hearts, our _souls_.

After my near-death experience, though we never acknowledged it, we tentatively tended the flame.

We started spending less time in the woods hunting and spent more time _being._ We spent long hours talking under the morning sun before our hunts, we got into the habit of not only doing business at the Hob but, going to have fun too and, as the months passed, family meals became a joint experience for us both.

Our hands linked whenever they could, our arms grew used to being wrapped around the other and closeness was no longer just an option - it became a necessity.

That didn't mean my misgivings suddenly disappeared though. The lingering threat of upcoming pain and heartbreak and abandonment that came from testing the waters the way we were was still there, lurking around in the dark places of my mind, sneaking up on me, and there were days that I wanted to pull back.

But, like the dependable partner he was, Gale was there right beside me on those days.

He didn't need to be told and we didn't speak of the scary thing that was happening to our relationship, that new and terrifying thing we were attempting and simultaneously downplaying, he was just _there._

Gale rode out every storm of fear with me, held me above the water before I could drown in my doubts, planted himself like a tree next to me whenever I wanted to push him away, held me together when the uncertainty of the future made me want to fall apart and never pressured me for more even though we both knew he was ready for that - for us - way before I was.

In the midst of all that change that show of loyalty and strength was the doorway to both acceptance and sanity for me, and he was my key.

Gale waited for me and, because of that, after nine months of hovering and dancing around each other, I allowed myself fall _in_ love with him for it. By that time I had already turned sixteen, and like most aspects of our relationship, there were no words needed to convey how I felt for him.

Neither of us had ever been any good with words.

All it took was one shared look as we curled up together after a long day of foraging, one warm embrace, one first kiss under the shade of a willow tree that tasted of hope and heat and fear and apples and _promise_ , for us to know.

To know there would be no going back, no more barriers between us, no more _holding b_ ack.

 _"Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable."_


	3. Born to Die

**A/N: Two updates in a day because this chapter ges hand in hand with the other! Enjoy! Thanks again for the wonderful reviews!**

* * *

 _"Come and take a walk on the wild side_

 _let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain_

 _Choose your last words_

 _This is the last time_

 _'Cause you and I, we were born to die."_

 _-Born To Die, Lana Del Ray_

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Born To Die**

It is Prim's screams that pull me away from thoughts of my relationship and back to the present.

"No! No! Noooo!"

"Hey, hey," I soothe, gathering the shrieking girl into my arms. "It's okay. It's okay. You're okay. You were just dreaming."

"It was me, Katniss," she whispered shakily, burrowing her delicate, tear-stained face into my chest, still trembling like a leaf in a storm. "It was me."

"I know, but it's not," I'm not shocked at Prim's distress, or the nightmares that have been occurring for the better part of a month. Today is Reaping Day - Prim's first Reaping Day, this was bound to happen.

"You'll be okay, just try to go back to sleep." I know it's early since there is no light struggling to get past the grime on my blinds. She needs as much sleep as she can get.

Unlike Prim, who is twelves years old now, I am eighteen, and this is my seventh year of the Reaping; the last year I will ever have to worry about one of my twenty-eight slips being pulled from the tribute bowl.

Life is cruel that way. After today, I no longer have to worry about being a potential tribute, but all that consuming anxiety that comes with the possibility of being reaped has been passed on to Prim - sweet, innocent, lovely as the flower she's named after. She does not deserve this, but it's how the Hunger Games are designed, what the Capitol wants. The games and the never-ending dose of fear they supply are what keeps them in power.

It takes awhile, at least fifteen minutes of comforting words and melodic humming, before Prim falls back into fitful sleep; petal-pink lips parted slightly, and blonde eyelashes resting against ivory cheeks. As soon as she's knocked out, I move from the rough canvas of the bed. Buttercup jumps onto it, taking his usual spot at Prim's feet.

Buttercup, named after the bright flower that doesn't match his muddy yellow coat, is the world's ugliest cat. Mashed-in nose, half of one ear missing, eyes the color of rotting squash. The stupid thing hates me or at least distrusts me. Even though it was years ago, I think he still remembers how I tried to drown him in a bucket when Prim brought him home as a scrawny kitten; belly swollen with worms, crawling with fleas. The last thing I needed was another mouth to feed. But Prim begged so hard, cried even, I had to let him stay. It turned out okay. My mother got rid of the vermin and he's a natural mouser; can even catch a rat if he's really feeling up to it. Sometimes, when I clean a kill, I feed Buttercup the entrails. He has stopped hissing at me.

Entrails. No hissing. That's the foundation of our coexistence.

I quickly braid my hair, pull on my hunting gear, and grab my forage bag; next to it, under a wooden bowl to protect it from rats and other critters, is goat cheese wrapped in a basil leaf.

Prim's reaping day gift to me and, by default, to Gale.

As I exit our small shack, the world is silent, and the sun is still resolutely below the horizon, a light orange glow escaping it's hiding spot. I make my way through the streets of the Seam. It's unusually empty besides the occasional stray dog. Most days the black cinder road is filled with miners - men and women with hunched shoulders, broken nails and coal dust lining every jagged line in their broken faces - but not today. There is no work on reaping day. Might as well sleep in if you can.

Once I cross the meadow, I easily crawl under the electric fence that covers the borders of District 12; an action that has become such second nature to me that I do so numbly and enter the woods that have been sustaining me for about six years now.

As soon as I'm in the trees, I retrieve a bow and sheath of arrows with careful hands from the hollow log closest to the fence, inhaling the crisp, mossy scent of the air and listening to the sounds of birdsong that came in random bursts and lulls. My pace quickens now that I'm in the safety of the trees and I start to feel the muscles of my face relax; this is the only place where I can truly be myself, and over the hills standing by a rock ledge overlooking the valley, is the only person I can be myself with.

Gale.

He's leaning against a tree, eyeing me as I walk closer. His stance is no different than the one he was in the day we met all those years ago; but Gale is no longer a gangly, awkward limbed little boy, he's a man now. Sharp jawed chiseled-featured, and a strong, lean form that begs to have my hands all over it. It's an indisputable fact that the oldest Hawthorne boy is one of the most attractive men in all of District 12.

I hear the way girls at school whisper about makes me jealous but, the fact that it is also an indisputable fact that he's mine usually lessens the sting.

"Hey, Catnip. Look what I shot," he calls, lumbering over in all his glory, sun on his left shoulder and the crooked smile he's managed to keep all these years on full display. He's comically holding up a loaf of bread with an arrow stuck in it.

A burst of laughter - the untamed, girlish type that only Gale can coax from me - tumbles out my mouth, and he lights up at the sound. Even from here I catch the subtle fragrance of freshly baked bread wafting downwind.

My mouth pools with saliva.

"Well, I guess we're feasting today," I respond, pulling the goat cheese from out of my pocket, smirking at the slackening of Gale's face and the twitch of his eyebrows, "took me forever to track this bad boy."

Gale blinks owlishly, before jerking his head slightly, shaking himself from his reverie. "Well, well. Thank you, Prim. Guess everyone's feeling generous today. The Baker even wished me luck." he marvels, looking quite disbelieving.

"Well, we all feel a little closer today, don't we?" I say, not even bothering to hide the bitterness in my words. "How much did the bread cost you?"

"Just a squirrel," he admits, and my face twitches in shock.

"Wow, definitely sentimental," I agree, before changing the subject to something less worrisome, trying to install a fake cheer into my words. "It looks like we got a good meal from it, though."

I don't think it worked.

"That we do Ms. Everdeen," he attempts to smile, it doesn't come out right.

Then the atmosphere shifts once we realize what he said and we're wrapped in a blanket of authenticity, a heavy tension settling between us; awkward, unsure yet hopeful.

 _Ms. Everdeen…._

Our discussion from the night before is obviously fresh on both our minds. We share shy glances, fleeting smiles dancing across our expressions; showcasing something rare and endearing and pure.

Gale breaks the silence first, glancing at the toes of his boots, "Do you still… Are you…" he clears his throat gruffly. "Did you mean it?" he finishes, his rough voice quivering slightly with vulnerability.

I swallow slightly, my thoughts immediately delving into the memories of last night.

* * *

 _A blanket of stars overhead, the spongy feel of grass and moss under me. The taste of my own salty tears fills my senses, the iron hold of the terror of what is to come squeezes me uncomfortably but, warm hands that can weave the most intricate and beautifully twisted snares act as a balm, they soothe me._

 _I'm peppered with assuaging kisses; breaths pass between our open mouths._

 _I'm drowning in the musk of leather, smoke, pine and pain; husky whispers of broken dreams and memories of two children left behind to carry the weight of a broken world - children who learned to share that weight - are spoken into the night. And, eventually, as the night sky deepens and there are no more tears to cry, a kindling flame of hope lights up in both our hearts right along side the blazing torch of love shared between us._

" _Tomorrow's our last day, Catnip. We'll be free."_

 _"Only if neither of us gets reaped, Gale and the odds -"_

 _"Let's not talk about the odds," he interrupts. "Either way tomorrow we'll know where our life is headed. We'll know if we actually get a shot at life."_

 _"... I've never thought about what my life after the Reapings would be like."_

 _"I have, lots of times."_

 _"Really? What have you thought of? The mines?"_

 _"Well yes, and I'm not looking forward to that, I'm not gonna lie. But, mostly, I've been thinking about… you. Us."_

 _"Me?"_

 _"Of course, we're adults now. We can't live the same life we did when we were thirteen."_

 _"I guess. What would change? We'll still be together, still hunting, still taking care of the kids," I hate change. "Hell, we'll probably work in the mines together."_

 _A flash of anxiety resurfaces in the both of us._

 _"Well, I've been thinking more of what could change, what's in the books now."_

 _"What do you mean?" My heart picks up, my chin trembles, my eyebrows draw together. There's a sting somewhere behind my eyes. I try to hide with a clenched jaw and anger._

 _They're what I know best._

 _"Gale if you want to break up just say it -" I start to wriggle out of the embrace._

 _Gale holds on, rolling his eyes."Pfft, jeez, Katniss way to think the worst. Of course not. It's been years. I love you, that's not even - never."_

 _ _"Then?!"_ I snap, annoyed and relieved.  
_

 _"I mean… I was wondering…" I feel a deep breath behind me; I can sense his nervous jitters. All his prior confidence is gone and it confuses me. "If, hypothetically, I were to ask you to marry me tomorrow, after the reaping… would that… is that an option?"_

 _A heavy pause. There's a hint of apprehension somewhere in my chest but, it's overshadowed by something warm, something heady._

 _Love._

 _No more fear, I won't allow it; there are so much scarier things to fear._

 _"Yes, that's an option. At least, you're not making me wait. I'm not very patient."_

 _Gale laughs and his relief is tangible - his joy._ _He gifts me with a searing kiss, leaving me gasping: we share a timid yet shy smile afterward, our palms cupping the others face - never wanting to let go._

 _"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself, Catnip? I said hypothetically."_

* * *

I'm roused from my memories by a crunch of twigs; Gale has shifted, tentatively stepping forward. He looks more distressed than I've ever seen him.

Well, besides that one time I was dying - but, we don't talk about that.

"Katniss?"

I immediately move forward to stop him from worrying. Close enough to be able to share body heat, not to touch. "Of course, I meant it. I wouldn't have said it otherwise."

The sound Gale releases is half exhale, half chuckle; the warmth of his breath fans my face gloriously. He shifts closer, entrapping me as easily as one of his snares trap prey.

"Good to know," he rumbles, "hypothetically, of course."

Then the invisible tension between us crumbles, and we're drawn together like moths to flame.

Gale wraps his strong arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest while I grip his hips with my empty hand, squeaking lightly at the force of his pull. "Don't drop the bread, Gale!" I try to admonish when I see him bend down but, his mouth has already slanted over mine, causing a rush of heat to surge through my veins.

I softened my lips, let them move and yield to his: allowing Gale to control the tender kiss.

This wasn't the same sloppy, hurried kiss from last night when we had a similar discussion. This is the type of slow kiss I secretly enjoyed the most. The one driven by a low burn filled with emotion, intensity, and promises of forever.

When we part, my eyes lazily flutter open and I feel Gale's hum of content through his torso. He hasn't opened his eyes and he's nibbling on his bottom lip, savoring the taste of me.

It causes my blood to sizzle.

"You almost squashed the cheese," I choke out in a daze, the breathless tone of my voice ruins my attempt at scolding.

Gale bends down to drop one last kiss on my mouth, "Worth it, " he mutters against my lips, a dreamy haze shining through the grey filter of his eyes once he opens them.

We stare stupidly at each other for a moment, memorizing every plane, every freckle, every imperfection of the others faces - this either may be one of the last opportunities we have for this or just the beginning of a lifetime filled with moments like this - and we're drinking in the tranquility of the moment, only breaking apart when it is shattered by a particularly noisy squeak somewhere to the east.

Gale grins bashfully, unwinding from around me to check to see if the bread is still on the arrow.

It is.

"Alright, beautiful," he tugs playfully at the end of my braid, "What do you want to do? We can fish, hunt, gather, skinny dip in the lake, make out under the sun-"

I smack his chest with the hand that isn't cradling the cheese, unable to stop the twitch of my lips or the flush in my face. Gale chuckles, his body quaking with quiet laughter, teeth flashing in the sunlight.

"Let's go fishing," I roll my eyes, moving away from his warmth reluctantly, "after breakfast."

"Fishing sounds good." Gale chimes, grinning as he stalks back to the edge of our clearing. He glances out over the edge of the hill, facing the soft rays of sunrise: looking for danger. "We'll earn back everything we eat."

Gale pulls out his knife and slices the bread, spreading the warm dough with the creamy, tangy cheese from Lady. I pick blackberries from the bushes quickly, washing them in the brook before ridding them of their tough spines.

When I'm sure the berries won't slice the roots of our mouths I sprinkle them over the cheese on our bread, settling back down next to Gale into a nook on the hillside.

I pretend to study the slice with exaggerated suspicion, "You put more cheese on yours!" I accuse.

Gale gives me a sheepish tight-mouthed smile, the bread he had already shoved into his gob puffing his cheeks out adorably, like a chipmunk. "You like the breadth beffer," he mumbles through the food, "can't wafste the cheefe."

I snort throatily but don't deny it. I have never liked too much cheese on my bread, I rather enjoy the floury taste as opposed to the tang of the cheese.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," is all I reply.

He makes a big show of swallowing, almost choking in the process.

Gale twines his leathery, calloused fingers with mine, and I lean over, making sure our whole arms are touching while I rest my head on his shoulder.

The day is glorious; made up of a blue sky and soft breeze. The blend of cheese seeping into the soft bread and the berries bursting in our mouths warms me from inside out, and I can almost forget what is to come. We stare out at the landscape, observing the view of brilliant green under the glowing orange horizon of a burnt sky. It was a beautiful view, one we looked at often but, never tire of.

Our meal is spent in silence. I think both of us are thinking of what's to come later today. Just because it's our last reaping doesn't put us in the clear.

If anything it puts us in more danger. Our names are in there more than all other kids, because of our age and our lack of wealth.

The odds aren't in our favor.

I know for sure Gale has had the same realization when he suddenly blurts quietly, "We could do it you know,"

"Do what," I ask, even though I already know.

I may not be looking at his face, but I can practically feel the turbulence gathering in his chest. Gale's anger at the Capital, at the world, is brewing up: the slight tightening of his knuckles, the hardness of his jaw gives him away.

I shift closer to him wearily, ready to dish it out. He won't be easy to talk down - not today.

Even though this happens on almost a weekly basis, his anger is always stronger on Reaping Days.

"Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it," says Gale almost wistfully. I sigh at his words. Wouldn't that be wonderful. A life away from oppressive government, harsh rules, and even harsher punishments. A life of freedom.

A life together.

Of course the together part isn't debatable, not in the confines of twelve or the wilds of Panem. Gale and I are a team - always have been, always will be.

It only takes two words from me to shatter that delicate dream, as much as I hate to do it.

"The kids," I whisper, and Gale deflates.

There is no way we can leave our responsibilities, our families. Prim who is twelve, Rory who is fourteen, Vick who is ten or little Posy who's barely six. There's too much holding us here.

"I know," he concedes, and he looks so worn down that I lean even closer, cupping his cheek in my palm and kissing him - solid, sweet and simple.

He smiles quietly when we part, the smile doesn't entirely fill his eyes, but it's genuine.

"I don't want kids," I blurt gracelessly, completely ruining the moment. I think he knows I don't, but I feel the need to remind him.

Gale tenses, just marginally, then relaxes; resting his lips against my forehead - not in agreement, in acceptance.

"I know that too. Look, I know I've said I might want kids before, a little Catnip running around would be the greatest thing I could ever imagine, but not now. Not with so many mouths to feed, and all the kids we already have… It's just a dream. I'd be happy childless for the rest of my life as long as you're in it."

The growing anxiety that has been pulsing in my ribcage dissipates at his confession, replaced with a fluttering sensation in my chest.

I nod softly, "okay," then, because now that I know Gale understands it's not possible, just a dream, I utter words I would usually never do say out loud in fear of giving him false hope. "A little Gale running around wouldn't be too bad either. If things were different."

The radiant smile that blossoms in Gale's face could've illuminated all of Panem - a sun in it's own right.

"I love you," he breathes, sliding the pad of his thumb across my cheekbone.

Almost two years ago these words would have terrified me, now they just fill me with a sense of peace and safety. There's no fighting it, I've already tried, and from that, I learned you can't control feelings. They come at you and when they're real, they stay - rooting into your heart, growing stronger and steadier as the seasons' pass.

I'm Gale's and Gale's mine, anything else is unthinkable.

This is how it is meant to be.

"I love you too," I confess, a small smile pulling at my lips. "You know what else I love? Fishing."

He barks out a laugh, loud enough that he scares a flock of birds hidden in the thick branches of the trees; as they fly away, weaving through leaves, they sing a great chorus of his laughter that the wind carries farther than we can see.

"Well then," he smiles, pushing himself up and holding out a hand for me, "what my girl want's my girl gets."

Rising beside him and lacing my fingers through his, I can't help my pleased giggle, "you just wanna go skinny dip."

"So it's an option?"

"If you get too cocky, no" I retort blandly, and Gale arches an eyebrow at me, lips pulled into a taut grin.

"Cocky, huh? Fine choice of words Catnip," he winks, sounding entirely too arrogant, and looking even more so as we walk to our next destination: bows and bags swung over our shoulders.

I blush.

In the cover of green, with our hands intertwined, and thoughts of always near our hearts, it's harder for the Games and the Capital too keep us down. My father was poetic enough that he'd probably say that this, being consumed by love and hope in times where fear is so prevalent, is an act of defiance on its own.

And, if Gale and I are anything, it's defiant.

* * *

The lake is quiet, and flat, not a ripple in the silver-blue water as it twinkles happily, just as it usually does whenever we come out here. The fish should be easy to catch because they are slow and sluggish this time of year, made lazy by the summer warmth.

By the time Gale and I cast out the intricate net Gale slaved over a couple of years ago, the sun is rising higher in the sky, reminding me that we have a deadline. We keep it there for a while and, use our free hands to trap the fatter fishes without the net. We work until we're sure we have caught at least a dozen fish before reeling the net back and prepping the dead trout.

We do our work swiftly and efficiently, orbiting around each other and not speaking much as we go about our business.

There has never been many reasons for words with Gale; we only speak when we want to, not always because we need to.

It's shocking to me that when we first became an item - I still mentally cringe at the term - I was scared our hunting would be affected.

I mean, it has been, but not negatively.

I know his body like the back of my hand; the way it moves, the sound of his heart beating - which I've memorized from quiet moments on a hunt, and having it pressed against mine in moments of passion or comfort - the subtle cues that let me know if he's frustrated, confused or having difficulty with something. It only serves to make us a better team, better survivors.

I can't deny it's a relief.

Like usual, on reaping days, I can't help that my angst affects my performance. I'll never admit it out loud, but my mind's not as sharp as it normally is.

The wisps of safety and hope I had briefly captured earlier, over the valley, has slipped through my fingers: leaving my stomach in knots and my throat dry. Gale doesn't suffer the like I do, and if he does, he's careful to hide it; even from me which should be impossible. His feet are as swift and silent as ever, aim precise (though even in my disquiet his aim will never be as good as mine), and determination unwavering.

By the time, the sun indicates it's late morning, our game bags are full of fish, a couple of squirrels hang from the rope tied around Gales' waist, and I have already plucked and washed the plumpest, reddest strawberries I could find to sell to the Mayor - it's a favorite of his.

As I work on stringing the rabbit I just shot, the air behind me stirs, and I know from the muted steps that it's Gale.

"I think we're set for today, we have a strong haul. Enough to sell and enough to keep a decent amount for the family feast." Our families usually celebrate the passing of the Reaping together.

The people of twelve tonight will celebrate the safety of their children with a meal larger than customary, while two families will close their blinds, and mourn for theirs.

The thought makes a sickness build up in my throat.

"Yeah," I wrangle out, wrestling the growing anxiety settling in my bones, "We should go."

Gale inhales behind me, grabbing my shoulders and pulling me up out of my crouched position. I expect tender words and consolation when I turn to face him but what I get instead is a face full of a large hand, coated with the sticky juice from strawberries.

"Gale!" I try to bat him away "what are you doing?!"

"Distracting you," he lulled, licking the fingers that were just rubbing my face, "you're being depressing, and, frankly, it's hurting my feelings."

"And, why is that?" I shot back, vaguely annoyed at the syrup on my already dirty cheeks.

"Because we are getting engaged today. At least try to smile." Gale meant it as a joke obviously, but I still feel a stab of guilt, and, if I'm honest, a rush of exhilaration.

Engaged. I'm going to be engaged to Gale.

It's hard to believe there was a time when that thought scared me, now (with the idea of children firmly out of the picture solidifying the feeling) it seems like a perfectly reasonable manifestation in our relationship.

Strange.

Gale most notice the jolt in my body, because he oversees my expression, trying to gauge my reaction.

I squeeze the hand that's twined with mine, and tip my head up, meeting his eyes. I'm sure he notices the gentle twinkle there because his lips pull up smoothly.

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself, Hawthorne? You said hypothetically," I jokingly repeat his words from last night, but Gale isn't listening anymore.

The hand that isn't tangled in mine, boldly caresses my torso moving slowly from my waist to the underside of my breast, gliding up and down under my shirt. I didn't even realize his hand was under there.

He maneuvers our intertwined hands so it's around his neck, leaning down to nip and trail kisses down mine. I instinctively throw my head back, leaving the flesh he's seeking exposed and, moaning lowly when he gives a particularly hard suck on the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulders.

We haven't crossed that line yet, sex does still scare me, but ample time alone in the woods - away from little, prying eyes - and our tendency to forsake words for actions have given us a good idea on the foundations of it.

"Mrs. Hawthorne," he mouths hotly against my skin, "Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne."

A jolt of lightning runs through me, amazing me in its strength.

I've accepted that this was the road we were heading on two years ago but hearing him say the words sends me to a whole new level of need. The whine I release is shrill and wanton and Gale reacts immediately, planting his lips on mine in a frenzy of teeth, tongue, fire and the tart taste of strawberries.

After a while, we come up for air with an embarrassing pop. I'll find time to be mortified about it later.

"You're right, we should go," he pants, eyes deepening, "I need this day to be over with."

I nod frantically, and we both turn collecting our things with a haste that has more to do with the adrenaline still running through us - between us- then the desire to leave the cocoon of solitude we have here.

As we collect our gear, Gale moving stiffly and with a gait that fills me with a feminine pride, I go to the bush one last time, pulling a strawberry from the stem, and ripping off the leaf.

"Gale!" I call, holding up the berry between my fingers, he smiles wryly showing me in turn the berry he was just about to eat.

"May the odds…." he drawled in that ridiculous capital accent, tossing the berry into the sky so that I can catch it in my mouth.

"... Be ever in your _favuh._ " I finish, launching my berry in return onto his waiting tongue.

* * *

After making our way quickly across the forest to the fence, the nervous almost giddy energy that's been ever-present since last night not leaving us, we're relieved to find that our exit hasn't been turned on while we worked.

Getting trapped in the forbidden forest, and missing the mandatory reaping would put a damper on our plans for tonight.

Once, we've crossed the fence we (Gale with a little more difficult than I) shuffle toward the Hob, making our routine trade rounds, and bartering with the same people we normally do. Haggling is much easier than usual, no one puts up too much of a fight today.

We trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for salt. Greasy Sae, the bony old woman who sells bowls of hot soup from a large kettle, takes half the greens off our hands in exchange for a couple of chunks of paraffin. We might do a tad better elsewhere, but we make an effort to keep on good terms with Greasy Sae.

She's the only one who can consistently be counted on to buy wild dog. We don't hunt them on purpose, but if you're attacked and you take out a dog or two, well, meat is meat.

When we finish our business at the market, we go to the back door of the mayor's house to sell half the strawberries. The mayor's daughter, and the closest thing I have to a friend, Madge, opens the door. Since neither of us really has a group of friends, we seem to end up together a lot at school. Eating lunch, sitting next to each other at assemblies, partnering for sports activities.

We rarely talk, which suits us both just fine.

Today her drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive white dress, and her blonde hair is done up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes.

Gale tenses, quite obviously biting his tongue as he refrains from commenting. He knows Madge is my closest, I use the term loosely, friend other than him, so he puts an effort into being polite.

And, by polite I mean he avoids interaction with her altogether; for Gale, that's as good as it can get.

Madge puts the money in my palm, "Good luck, Katniss," she expressed, then nods tersely at Gale, "Gale."

Gale nods back while I say, "You, too," and then the door closes.

Madge is straight and to the point, just how I like it.

I reflect on how much I like Madge as we take the familiar route back to the Seam, clutching at Gale's hand, who hasn't unclasped mine since crossing the fence. I glance over at my companion, his face still smoldering underneath the stony expression.

Gale senses my gaze and meets my eyes, "she had a gold pin," he grates; either as an explanation or an apology.

I nod, "yes, she did," and bring his hand up to brush my lips against it.

I discovered not long after our friendship shifted to something else that the gesture softens him up instantly. Just like I expected his countenance eases and he lifts our linked hands to plant a kiss on the pulse point on my inner wrist.

I understand his anger; it's not directed at Madge specifically but at what she represents. I don't blame him. If it wasn't my loyalty to her or if it was some other merchant wearing that pin, I'd have the same reaction.

Gale walks me to my door, and we divide our spoils; leaving two fish, a couple of loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin, and a bit of money for each.

When it's time to finally split ways, he pulls me into a long hug.

"Make sure to wear something pretty," the words are genuine, and that startles me.

"Why should I get dressed up for them," I grumble into his chest, making sure to keep my voice low.

I feel the movement of Gales' torso as he rasps out a quick laugh of approval. "We have a big night, Catnip. Don't most girls wanna get all dolled up for something like that."

"I'm not most girls."

"Eh, you're right. You're not most girls, " he concedes, pulling back and lifting my chin to face him fully, "You're my girl, so show up in a trash bag if you want to. That'll show me."

We share a ghost of a chuckle, then part with a lingering kiss.

"I love you," I whisper. My unease is rising again, and I need him to know how I feel.

"I love _you,_ " he repeats, pulling the edge of my braid before turning away, rushing toward the direction of his house.

We're running late.

* * *

At home, I find my mother and sister are ready to go. A tub of warm water waits for me. I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the woods and even wash my hair.

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

I'm trying to get past rejecting offers of help from her. For a while, I was so angry, I wouldn't allow her to do anything for me. And this is something special. Her clothes from her past are very precious to her.

"Of course. Let's put your hair up, too," she motioned. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. I can hardly recognize myself in the cracked mirror that leans against the wall.

"You look beautiful," whispers Prim in a hushed voice.

"And nothing like myself," I declare.

I hug her, just because I know these next few hours will be terrible for her. Her first reaping. She's about as safe as you can get since she's only entered once. I wouldn't let her take out any tesserae. But she's worried about me.

Even though I hate that she is, I can't help but think that she should be.

I'm worried about me too.

"Tuck your tail in, little duck," I say to distract both of us from our thoughts, smoothing the blouse back in place.

Prim giggles and gives me a small "Quack."

"Quack yourself," I snicker, taking her hand to meet my mother who's already waiting by the door.

She tries to hide the pained expression on her face.

Once we step outside, I notice that the previously clear sky has clouded over, leaving everything below it in a grey shade. I march along with my family in tow, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that this is a bad omen.


	4. Noose Around Your Neck

**_A/N: WOW guys! Thanks for the reviews! Shout out to all the people who favorited and followed! I know this is a bit of a boring chapter but it needed to be done! Let me know what you guys think and enjoy! I know the beginning is pretty similar to the books BUT just hang on please. This is just that the beginning. I have some surprises and twists in store for later ;)_**

 **REVIEW RESPONSES:**

 ** _Cosmic Candy_ : _Thank you so much! That means the world I'm so glad you liked it and thank you for taking a chance on Gale/Katniss haha. I'll strive to make sure you won't forget it!_**

 ** _catniphawthorne:_ _Girl, thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this one! xoxoxox O-renishiii_**

 _ **Ellenka:**_ _ **Thank you, thank you, thank you! It is close to the original at times I'll admit but, don't worry as the story progresses things will get different bc Katniss and Gale in the arena together will def be different than Katniss and Peeta lol ;) Thanks for the review!**_

 _ **Vaughn Tyler: Thanks!**_

 _ **Gale Lover:** **Thank you! When it comes to the age I thought so too, just hard to get into the mindset of sixteen-year-olds. Plus, I wanted to write Katniss a bit more mature and less emotionally stunted and that to do that realistically I thought more years needed to be added. Thanks for the consistent reviews and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

 _ **0twilightlover184 :** **Thank you!**_

* * *

 _"But I will hold on hope._ _And I won't let you choke_

 _On the noose around your neck_

 _And I'll find strength in pain._ _And I will change my ways_

 _I'll know my name as it's called again."_

 _-The Cave, Mumford and Sons_

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Noose Around Your Neck**

As soon as we reach the square, I'm annoyed by the presence of the camera crews perched on the buildings surrounding the square, eyeing us like vultures.

I quickly drag Prim to the check-in line, feeling my trepidation and, Prim's panic grow with every shaky step. We file in along with all the other grim-faced children in our age groups, shuffling to our sections with the lagging steps of a death march. Prim is pushed forward to stand in the far front where all the other twelve years old are huddled, and I make my way to the far back, where all the oldest stand.

I can't help glancing in the direction of the eighteen-year-old boy section to see if I can catch a glimpse of Gale, to no avail. There are too many people between us and I'm so short that all I see are shoulders and arms.

This inconvenience doesn't stop me from trying a few times as we wait for the clock to hit two, though.

The bell chimes right on time, and Effie Trinket, the District 12 escort steps onto the stage in all her pink, alien glory.

She waves exuberantly, practically skipping towards the microphone though it looks more like a horse's clomp. Next, to the chair she had been previously occupying, sat Mayor Undersee and slouching in his chair next to the Mayor, is Haymitch Abernathy; the only living victor in District 12 and, also, the only mentor the tributes have.

He doesn't inspire much hope or awe in the district with his sunken eyes, stringy dark hair, and ruffled clothing. There's a lot of resentment in the District for Haymitch, considering he has been unable to bring a 12 tribute home in the past twenty plus years.

The fact that he's a roaring drunk doesn't help either.

"Welcome, welcome!" gushed Effie Trinket, unnaturally pearly smile, and deep purple lips taking over the screens overhead. "Happy Hunger Games! And, may the odds be ever in your favor." There was no applause, but Effie is unfazed.

The crowd's lackluster zeal never deters her.

"Before we begin, we have a very special video, coming to you straight from the Capital!"

I sneer at her words as the video that plays every year replaces her face on the big screen. I tune out the opening credits "War, terrible war." None of us need a reminder of the falling of the old world or the failure of the first rebellion; our prominent ribs and constant hunger already work splendidly as it is. Nor do we want to hear of the "Capital's forgiveness."

Slow deaths and varying torture don't seem like a pardon to me.

I glare a hole into the dirt, hoping that the Capital doesn't own any mind reading technology as I wait for the closing note of the video.

When it comes, Effie is squealing with excitement, "I just love that!", before collecting herself, and getting the actual reaping started. "Well, let us begin! As always, ladies first."

With an unnecessary twirl, Effie flaunts toward the bowl with an unnecessary twirl and sticks her hand in it. The crowd goes still, collectively sucking in a breath and holding it in fear. The bitter taste of bile lingers in my mouth, as we waited for the name.

Effie crosses the podium once again to get to the microphone, heels clicking obnoxiously on the stage and she holds up a white slip trapped between her talons. _Please don't be me, please don't be me._ She pauses briefly for dramatic effect, then announces the name of the female tribute through the microphone, the sound of her voice reverberating through the crowd like a crack of doom.

It isn't me.

It's " _Primrose Everdeen."_

* * *

It takes a second before I truly process to whom the name belongs to, and once I do, my knees buckles.

Just as fast as it came, the split second of relief I felt when the name called didn't begin with a "K" is gone, leaving behind nausea, dizziness and a vague sense of disbelief.

There is no mistaking the name Efiie called out; not when it boomed through the speakers and hammered into my skull.

My limbs are frozen, eyes stinging with unshed tears; I can't think, can't breathe.

I've never even bothered to worry about Prim getting reaped. The idea that she would be picked when there were people like me who have their names in twenty or thirty times was ridiculous.

Hell, I know of a handful of other twelve-year-olds with more slips in the bowl than Prim.

My ears ring and, my heart's thundering in disbelief. Hadn't I done everything? Taken the tesserae, refused to let her do the same? One slip. One slip in thousands.

The odds were supposed to be in her favor.

Somewhere far away, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chosen because no one thinks this is fair.

And then I see her, the blood drained from her face, hands clenched in fists at her sides, walking with stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing me, and I see the back of her blouse has become untucked and hangs out over her skirt.

It's this detail, the untucked blouse forming a ducktail, my little duck, that brings me back to myself.

"Prim!" The strangled plea comes from the most painful depths of my throat, and my muscles begin to move again. _"Prim!"_

I bolt towards the stage, shoving past the few people who don't have the sense to move out of my way. I reach her just as she is about to mount the steps. With one sweep of my arm, I push her behind me.

"I volunteer!" I shout, my tongue dripping acid and, words cutting through the air.

A hush falls over the crowd. People don't volunteer in District 12 where the word tribute was interchangeable with the word corpse, what I am doing is unheard of. But, it doesn't matter, I just need to save Prim, nothing else matters.

"I volunteer as tribute," I repeat, my voice firmer than I expected it to be. I feel less wild, less frantic now that Prim is safe. A strange emptiness fills my insides instead, making me feel heavy and weightless all at once, like an airbag ready to explode.

The sensation make's no sense, and I don't like it.

There's some confusion up on stage, the protocol for volunteers has gotten rusty, and Effie looks equal parts alarmed and ecstatic. _Gross._

But, I can't focus on that. Prim is screaming hysterically behind me. She's wrapped her skinny arms around me like a vice.

"No, Katniss! No! No!"

"Prim, go to mom," I rush, she needs to go because this is upsetting me and I don't want to cry. I can't cry; if I'm going into those god awful games, I will do it with dignity and strength.

I will give not give them the satisfaction of seeing me break.

"I'm so sorry. You have to go find mom now." She's still hollering, "Prim, go find mom!"

She only clutches at me harder, her thin nails digging into the satin of my dress. I'm just about to snap at her harshly when she's yanked away from me.

In a panic I look behind me to check if it's a peacekeeper who's trying to drag her away but, all I see is a mirror of heartbroken smokey eyes staring back at me: overwhelming love and sadness spilling out from the orbs.

Gale's crestfallen face is a stab at my heart as it suddenly dawns on me what I've done, what I'm losing.

 _We were going to get married._

The thought guts me.

Gale lifts Prim off the ground, and she's thrashing in his arms. "Up you go, Catnip," he says, in a thick voice he's fighting to keep steady. I hear the whisper of the _"I love you"_ I know he's thinking but won't say here, and turns to carry a still shrieking Prim off to my mother.

I steel my nerves, and climb the stairs, fighting the black spots in my vision.

When I reach the top Effie trinket is waiting, she eagerly ushers me to the microphone, buzzing in excitement.

"Ladies and gentleman, District 12's very first voluneteer!"

There are no cheers, and I ignore her keeping my eyes locked on Gale's lean build stomping back to the eighteen-year-old boy section. When he settles into his place I avert my eyes my eyes quickly; if I stare too long at the devastation etched into the creases of his face I won't be able to keep myself impassive.

I stare resolutely at the horizon instead. I like the horizon, the horizon is good. I can see our woods.

"What's your name, dear."

I swallow hard, "Katniss Everdeen."

"I bet my buttons that was your sister. Don't want her to steal all the glory, do we?" trills Effie, either not realizing or ignoring the sudden rumble of agitation that passes through the crowd.

I can sense the rage emanating from Gale at her implication, heating me up and sparking the faint match I feel in the bottom of my stomach. It's only a small flame, flickering dimly like a candle in the wind, but it comforts me all the same.

At least I still have my fire, the dull pounding of my flame - I haven't been extinguished, and I hold onto that. The fire keeps me standing tall in the face of my death sentence.

"Well, onto the boys!" Before she can move on though, Haymitch drunkenly interrupts.

"Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around us. Effie's squeaks and tries to scurry away, but he holds on. He's surprisingly strong for such a wreck. "I like her!" His breath reeks of liquor, and it's probably been a long time since he's bathed. "Lots of . . . " He can't think of the word for a while. "Spunk!" he says triumphantly. "More than you!" he releases me and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly at a camera.

Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? I'll never know because just as he's opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.

I ignore him, release a choked breath I didn't realize I'd been holding and latch onto my resolve, making sure to keep my vision trained toward the distance.

 _'The horizon is good. The horizon is safe. Look there. Don't cry.'_ I coach myself.

From here I can see the hills I climbed this morning with Gale. For a moment, I yearn for something . . . The idea of us leaving the district . . . Making our way in the woods . . . Living a life of freedom and solitude together; but I know I was right about not running off.

Who else would have volunteered for Prim?

"Gosh, isn't today just full of surprises," Effie fake giggles as Haymitch is whisked away on a stretcher, her nervousness amplified by the microphone. "But, more excitement to come! Now, the boys."

Her ridiculous wig has shifted to the side during Haymitch's groping and, in a vain attempt to contain her tenuous hair situation, she plants one hand on her head as she crosses to the ball that contains the boys' names; grabbing the first slip she encounters.

Effie zips back to the podium, and then she's reading the name.

"Gale Hawthorne!"

* * *

Gasps emit from the crowd, the screams of a little girl – two little girls – bounces off the walls of the buildings, echoing through the square.

It takes me a minute before it hits me why.

 _Gale Hawthorne. Gale. My Gale._

My vision blanks, my ears rings, and, for the second time today, my knees buckle.

"No," I whimper through parted lips, and I don't realize that because of my place on the stage everyone in the square hears my moan. "Gale, _no."_

I can vaguely see the crowd parting for Gale; he's striding forward, eyes set ablaze and face set in anger; there was something else ingrained in his features as well, a peculiar feeling mixed into his expression. Relief maybe? I'm not too sure, all I can focus on is the spasming of my muscles, the horror pulsating through my insides and the trembles wracking my form. I've basically thrown not being seen as weak out the window, but I can't bring myself to care.

Somewhere beside me, Effie is announcing, "There's our boy! Come on up!"

Gale is barely a foot away from the steps and, already I think he's too close. I don't want him to come on up. The closer Gale gets to the stage the more real this cruel twist of fate is becoming.

 _'We're both going to the games. We have to fight to the deat-.'_

No that's not possible, there's only one way this plays out.

 _'We're both going to die.'_

The absolute terror I feel at the revelation shakes me to my core. ' _We're going to die.'_

Gale is hurrying up the sets now, staring fixedly at me. I'm gaping at him; mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, unable to breathe with all the pressure settling in my lungs.

The weak breaths I do manage to exhale come out in short, uneven bursts and in between each pant, one word escapes - a mantra, a prayer. _"No"_

I vacantly decide that I'm at risk of passing out when suddenly, strong arms are wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a solid chest. The scent of leather and smoke penetrates the cloud of my muddled consciousness, and a familiar voice is hissing urgently in my ear.

"Katniss, breath. Katniss, _breath."_

Now that he's joined me on stage, the rising hysteria bubbles out of me, and a wretched need to make it all stop overruns me; it's the same frantic, desperation I felt when Prim's name was called.

I don't care about the cameras, or the audience or The Capital; the wrath of all of Panem can rain down on me for all I care. I just want is to save him, he's not safe here.

' _H_ _e can't be here.'_

" _ **No!"**_ I shriek and, suddenly, I'm struggling in his arms, shoving at his chest.

He needs to get off the stage, he needs to go. I want to scream for him to run, to head to the woods and never look back but, I'm not in the right frame of mind to string together coherent sentences - which is probably for the best.

The only words I manage to shove past my shriveled tongue is, "Gale, no. Gale you can't - no! _Nooo!"_

"Katniss, Katniss!" Gale grinds out, straining to keep me caged against his chest, taking ever hit my flailing arms send his way, and painfully bumping our foreheads together as he tries to maneuver our faces close enough to look me in the eye.

 _"_ _S_ top, alright. _Stop_ , Katniss"

Somehow he traps my arms with only one of his and a second arm comes up to cup my face, nails denting my cheeks with a wild eyes meet, and his are hard with determination, a fierceness that I've only ever witnessed in Gale.

Instantly I feel calmer, safer.

"It's okay, it's okay," he grates, and it isn't, nothing will ever be okay again, but for a second I'm selfishly thankful he's here; steady, strong and durable. Unbreakable.

I inhale shakily and lean my forehead against his, trying to catch my breath.

We hold that position for a second, both breathing shallowly and brows pressed together. Gale is looking at me with the same simmer in his eyes that is present when he raves at the unfairness of the world.

My anger blossoms because of it.

I am no longer hysterical, or desperate – I'm _f_ _urious -_ boiling because of what I'm losing, what they will take from me.

Gale must recognize my change of emotions because he nods in subtle approval, slowly uncoiling from around me.

He drops his palm from my cheek and arms from my waist, taking a small step to the side; bringing himself up to tower at his full height. I straighten my spine besides him, hardening my features and fuming openly.

My earlier convictions of not being seen as frail come full force, and I'm grateful I haven't shed any tears despite my meltdown.

The square is completely silent, and the cameras are trained on Gale and I. I study the screens from the corner of my eye and see that my expression is irate, my cheeks are flushed and fists clenched. Gale looks thunderous on my right.

 _'Good,'_ I think, pushing any regret I feel for losing control like that out of my mind.

I am human, and I love, but I am not weak. I won't let them turn me cold, won't let them take away how I feel about the man beside me.

They can't have that too.

Effie is gawking at us, her lopsided wig completely forgotten as she gapes. I notice the Mayor by her side looking impossibly sad. He must recognize us as the kids who sell him strawberries, or me as the friend of his daughter or remember us as the oldest children of two dead miners who he gifted a medal in the remembrance ceremony for our fathers "sacrifice."

The reminder of my father's death makes me angrier. With Gale and I out of the picture who will care for my family now?

My glare deepens.

The tense, awkward silence stretches and my impatience and insecurity grows. I want to be out of the spotlight; I want this ceremony to be over with.

Too much has happened in too little time.

Gale seems to agree because, after a moment, he snaps, "don't you have a job to do, lady."

My lips twitch in cruel satisfaction when she jumps comically, her wig almost falling off.

"Oh, oh! Yes, my word." she clears her throat before warbling weakly, "Mayor if you please," and then stumbles over to plop down on the wooden chair.

I almost feel bad for her; this has been a very unusual reaping indeed.

 _'Be careful what you wish for Effie.'_

The Mayor clears his throat gruffly and finishes the dreary Treaty of Treason. The old man motions wearily for Gale and I to shake hands, as is custom, but neither of us does.

We stare defiantly at the Mayor until his expectant appearance drops; only then, does Gale swoop down to drop a quick kiss on my temple. A statement that we are in this together, a declaration that we will not be separated.

I'm proud and immensely grateful for it.

Then, as the anthem of Panem plays behind us to close the ceremony, something amazing happens.

Maybe it's because of how well known we are, maybe it's because I volunteered for my sister, or it's a thank you for all the years we've spent facing the dangers that come with illegal poaching and braving the woods so everyone can eat, but the people of District twelve our looking at us, with strong gazes and, eyes full of comadriere.

At first, one, then another, then almost every member of the crowd touches the three middle fingers of their left hand to their lips and holds it out to us. It is an old and rarely used gesture of our district, occasionally seen at funerals.

It means thanks, it means admiration, it means good-bye to someone you love.

This is the last image I have of my home and the people in it. It's a beautiful image, one I decide to keep with me until I'm six feet under.

At this point, that'll be any day now.

* * *

The moment the anthem ended, Gale and I are frog-marched through the front door of the Justice Building.

Once inside, we're separated, and I'm conducted to a room by myself.

It's the wealthiest place I'd ever been in, with thick, deep carpets and a long velvet couch that seems to span from wall to wall. I blearily stumble over to it and sink into the fabric.

For the first time in hours, my body is able to fully relax as the air conditioning cools my overheated self down. The sweat on the backs of my thighs stick to the rich material, and I lay my head on one of the plush pillows.

I can't help running my sweaty palms repeatedly over it and childishly hope that my stink will seep into the couch and ruin it forever.

I'm entertaining these thoughts when the first of my visitors arrive. It is my mother and Prim.

I reach out to Prim and she climbs on my lap, her arms around my neck, head on my shoulder, just like she did when she was a toddler. My mother sits beside me and wraps her arms around us. For a few minutes, we say nothing. Then I start telling them all the things they must remember to do, now that I will not be there to do them for them.

Prim is not to take any tesserae. They can get by, if they're careful, on selling Prim's goat milk and cheese and the small apothecary business my mother now runs for the people in the Seam. They need to help take care of the Hawthorne's just like the Hawthorns will help take care of them.

Gale has been teaching Rory and Vick to hunt so they'll bring game; they'll also bring the herbs mother needs that she doesn't grow herself, but she must be very careful to describe them because neither of them are as familiar with them as I am or even Gale.

They will probably not ask for compensation, but I tell them they should thank him with some kind of trade anyway, like milk or medicine.

I don't bother suggesting Prim learn to hunt. I tried to teach her a couple of times and it was disastrous. The woods terrified her, and whenever I shot something, she'd get teary and talk about how we might be able to heal it if we got it home soon enough as if it was a wounded goat or ugly cat she can just take in. But she makes out well with Lady, so I concentrate on that.

When I am done with instructions about fuel, and trading, and staying in school, I turn to my mother and grip her arm, hard.

"Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" She nods, alarmed by my intensity. She must know what's coming.

"You can't leave again," I say.

My mother's eyes find the floor. "I know. I won't. I couldn't help what—"

"Well, you have to help it this time. You can't clock out and leave Prim on her own. There's no me now to keep you both alive. It doesn't matter what happens, whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!" My voice has risen to a shout. In it is all the anger, all the fear I felt at her abandonment years ago.

She pulls her arm from my grasp, moved to anger herself now. "I was ill. I could have treated myself if I'd had the medicine I have now."

That part about her being ill might be true. I've seen her bring back people suffering from immobilizing sadness since.

"Then take it. And take care of her!" I rasp.

"I'll be all right, Katniss," soothes Prim, clasping my face in her hands.

I'm drawn in by the soft, wisdom she seems to radiate despite her delicate features, childish timber, and rosy cheeks. She's so young and pure and gentle, precious like a raindrop; so untouched by the burden of the world, that I'm suddenly filled with a selfless sense of loss.

Now that I will no longer be around to protect her, Prim will have to harden to survive.

"Just promise you will -" she pauses, face twisting as if she's just sucked on a lemon. She may be young but she understands that for me to win Gale will have to die, Prim would never ask me to forsake him. I can't live with that being Gale's fate, _our_ fate. Not after everything. "Promise you won't let them break you. Promise you'll stay my sister no matter what."

My heart shatters at this and, I gather her in my arms. I hear my mother release a faint, pained moan.

"I promise Prim, I promise." Because that's something I can fight for. They can't have me; not my spirit or soul, or heart. Those are mine, they're all I have.

And then, much too soon, the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up; we all hug one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is "I love you. I love you both." And they're saying it back.

Then the Peacekeeper orders them out and the door closes. I bury my head in one of the velvet pillows as if this can block the whole thing out.

When the door opens again, Posy is bolting in "Katty," she sobbed, ramming into me in a streak of muted green fabric, and ebony hair. "Don't go, please don't go. Please."

I don't know what to say to comfort Gale's little sister, so I stay silent and hold the little girl to my chest, swallowing back the sorrow, or maybe it was vomit, that climbs up my throat.

I look at the entrance to see Hazelle Hawthorne over Posy's head, standing at the door with glassy eyes and pursed lips. For a second, I wonder where Vick and Rory are but I remember that the limit for visitors is two at a time, and only two are allowed in from each family that isn't of direct relation to the tribute.

I will never see Vick and Rory again.

"I'm sorry," she says thickly, "I'm so sorry." Hazelle crosses the room and sits heavily next to me, bowing her head and hunching her shoulders; practically collapsing in on herself. "I'm so sorry."

I wrap my arm around her rigid shoulders and lean in, "I'm sorry too, so sorry about Gale," I whisper.

"I know, honey," she sniffles, "you guys had such a future."

She sends a potent glance my way, and I wonder if she knew of our engagement plans for tonight. That caused my heart to hurt though, so I push the speculation away.

"I know, it doesn't mean much but…. I'm gonna try to help him come home,"

This is the truth. Someone needs to help take care of our families and it will be Gale, he has too many siblings to care for.

Granted, the chance of either of us returning home is slim, but if one of us is too win it has to be Gale.

She gave a sad chuckle, "Brave girl, my son said the same thing about you."

Of course, he did. We take care of each other me and Gale – always.

"Don't go Katty," Posy wailed, "Gale and you stay!"

She doesn't realize we don't have a choice. I open my mouth to comfort her. To tell her that if we could we would and that there's nowhere else I'd rather be but, the door opens and the peacekeeper is at the door.

Our times is up.

Hazelle darts up grabs Posy hands and leans forward urgently, "We'll take care of each other, all of us," she assures, me "please don't leave my son. You two stick together, okay? No matter what, stick together."

Then she's being dragged away in a harmony of Posys cries and the heavy clump of steel boots. I manage to call out one last plea."Take care of her! Watch out for Pri-"

The door slams, then before I can even blink, the door is opened again and a figure with long blonde hair and a pretty white dress is striding in.

"Madge," I whisper, shocked to see her and then shocked that I'm shocked to see her.

Other than Gale she's my only friend, _of course,_ she came to say goodbye.

But, Madge doesn't waste any time on pointless words or tears; her eyes are hard and urgent, her footing steady.

I'm immensely grateful.

"This is my pin - my aunt's pin - it's a Mockingjay," she says, fumbling with the clasp slightly before reaching over to fasten it on my dress, "will you wear it? All tributes get a token."

If we were in any other situation, any other context, I would deny it - I don't like handouts - but, because of where we are all I can do is nod.

"Thank you," I manage to push out through my closed throat. Madge nods once, straightening out the collar of my dress once the pin is on and brings me in for a tight hug.

I'm surprised at this. I've never been hugged by anyone who isn't family, the Hawthornes, or Gale.

The revelation does something funny to me; my eyes starts to sting and I want nothing more than to pull back.

I stay still though.

"Good luck," Madge whispers then, promptly lets me go, strides out the room and glides past the peacekeepers at the door.

I decide then that Mage isn't just my friend - she is my best friend and I was lucky to sit with her in lunch all these years.

I marvel at the fact that I actually have a best friend (who isn't Gale) for a second before putting that out of my mind once a dull ache in my chest starts up.

It doesn't matter anymore - I'm practically already dead. Basically, a walking corpse.

I sit back down heavily, suddenly drained and not expecting any more visitors. I largely keep to myself, usually limiting my interactions to only Gale, and our families. Since our families are gone and my goodbyes have been exhausted all I can do now is wait.

Which is why I'm surprised when someone else enters the room.

I look up sharply, it's the baker, and Peeta Mellark cautiously entering the room. I can't believe they've come to visit me but the three of us do know each other a bit. The baker is especially close with Prim. When she sells her goat cheeses at the Hob, she puts two of them aside for him and he gives her a generous amount of bread in return. He's probably here for her sake.

Peeta Mellark I know is here for me, even if I don't understand it. Years ago, before I met Gale and before the woods, a twelve-year-old Peeta Mellark saved my life with one random act of kindness.

That act gave me hope and I've always felt bad I've never been able to pay him back for it - I feel even worse now that I will never have the chance.

The baker clears his throat gruffly and shares a glance with his son. They look identical.

"We'll make sure the girl eats," he rumbled, "she won't starve, we promise."

I gasp quietly, shocked at this random, unorthodox act of kindness, but, like always, too selfish to question it.

"Thank you. I - thank you."

Peeta speaks up next, "I'm so sorry this happened to you Katniss... to both you and Gale."

Peeta looks deeply wounded, his words ringing of utter sincerity, and I wonder why. He doesn't know us, me or Gale. Doesn't speak to us, or owe us anything. Why does he seem so devasted?

"It's okay," it's not but Katniss plays it off anyway, "It is what it is."

"I'm sorry" was all the bakers' son choked out in response.

I fidgeted uncomfortably, confused at my normally cheerful classmates shattered expression. it looked wrong on him, he was always so happy and full of life, a beacon of life and joy for everyone he spoke to at school - even me. He shouldn't look so sad, not for a girl he barely knows.

"It's okay, really." I reply hurriedly, _earnestly_ ; desperate to settle this debt, avoid his pity and get that look off his face, "Thank you for everything."

I give Peeta a pointed look, hoping he understands what I mean - it would sound too weird to thank him, a baker, for bread out loud.

By the look of sad understanding, he sends back Peeta knows what I'm talking about.

A surge of gratefulness and relief washes over me at his acceptance of my thanks, at the fact that I no longer have that debt hanging over me - it feels oddly like closure.

"Here," interrupts my musing, shoving a large pale hand in my direction, I notice that there's a white bag clutched to it, "have this."

I gingerly reach out to take it and right as my fingers wrap around the paper bag there a banging on the door. Time's up... again.

I'm really starting to get tired of that.

Mr. Mellark makes his way out without another word and a sad glance in my direction that has me squishing the bags between my in annoyance; I'm tired of everyone's pity and charity and _feelings_. Peeta lingers behind, blonde curls hiding the clouded blue of his eyes and mouth parted, as if he wants to say something.

As awful as it is, I sincerely hope he doesn't. I don't want any more feelings or apologizes.

"Thanks again, Peeta," I say, half in an attempt to get him to leave before I do some unforgivable like cry and half out of genuine gratitude.

Peeta is just genuinely _good_ \- through and through - despite his horrid mother, who everyone in Twelve knows is a heavy fisted witch. That type of goodness, the one that allows you to see the best in people even when you've experienced the worst first hand, is a quality rarely seen in a world like ours.

It reminds me of Prim.

"Bye Katniss," he chokes an emotion flashing in his eyes I can't decipher before bumbling out. He didn't look back.

Once again that foreign feeling of closure washed over me. I feel like a chapter of my life is done and wrapped up nicely.

Then I remember where I'll be headed in just a few short hours and the feeling is gone.


End file.
